


Forgotten

by Baby_Fangirl



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 1998)
Genre: Angst, Disturbing Themes, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 04:06:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15380283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baby_Fangirl/pseuds/Baby_Fangirl
Summary: Imogen Drill hadn't always been a non-witch... Constance Hardbroom hadn't always been a cold hearted woman.They say love changes everything. But for better or for worse?#HBDrill





	1. The beginning of Forever

**Author's Note:**

> I origiy posted this fic to Fanfiction.net in 2015, no hate please.

Constance most certainly had not been listening as Amelia Cackle had been droning on in her usual monotone, and somewhere deep in the potion teachers thoughts, Constance was reliving old memories. Memories she loved, and memories she would do best to forget. Both miss Bat and miss Gimlet were giving the headmistress all the attention she deserved and her words half passed through the deputy's mind. That was until the name. The two words sent Constances senses into action, trying to come up with exactly what had been the topic of discussion. No, she couldn't possibly of heard correctly! But how else could she explain the crackle of electricity that shot through her veins at that exact moment?

There was no other logical explanation as to why her heart suddenly raced and her fingertips tingled with familiar electricity.

"What did you say?!" The intensity of Miss Hardbrooms punctuated question stunned the three witches before her, never had any one of them heard her use such a desperate, anxious voice. The charms mistress looked back down through her glasses, reading the application letter through again for her.

" 'I am hoping to bring great benefits to the school, as I truly believe that I could pass my own talents unto them, a vital subject I am sure they will enjoy and learn from' signed 'Imogen Drill'... she sounds delightful" The tall witch silently gasped, unable to believe it. No, she  _couldn't_ believe it, it was impossible.

"Have you really been listening to any of this Constance?" Miss Gimlet tilted her head, unable to read the very shocked expression the deputy head wore.

"A non-witch, applying at Cackles Academy... I love the idea!" Davina squealed, in the midst of playing the percussion, with the teaspoon on the sugar bowl, annoying Miss Gimlet greatly.

"It just can't be..." The witch was practically paralysed, with no focus in her dark, mysterious eyes, as she slumped back into the chair. Every inch of colour drained her face, leaving her a stationary statue of ivory.

 

* * *

 

**_Many Years Earlier_ **

 

' _One more year to go... After this one'_  Constance thought bitterly, biting her lip as she flew into school after the end of the holidays, unable to wait until the _next_ holidays, after the weary term. Already far from home and she missed her little sister.

Penelope Hardbroom had been sent to Pentangles after Constance had came home covered in cuts and scars and black and brown bruises that mortified her widow mother. After that, she had tried to withdraw her daughter from the school, but... It wasn't granted, of course it wasn't , not with Mistress Broomhead as headmistress. And now, Constance brushed away the salty tears, knowing her form mistress would scold her as soon as she hit the ground, and crying, was the very last thing to do in front of Mistress Hecketty Broomhead.

 

Of course there were small highlights of school, she was excelling highly in potions, and of course, her friends, Priscilla and Lavender. But of course she hated the school, she despised the witch that haunted her dreams, that had burdened her to hate herself, especially her body, she hated her bruised arms, she hated her scarred back and she hated her skinny, weak frame. Her mother had desperately fed her, as the young girl was dreadfully thin, looking like she had been starved. Constance

Hardbroom  _had_  been starved, the whole time she had been isolated in the head mistresses wardrobe (  _this past feeling had caused her to despise miss Bats hibernation in there, knowing too well, the place was one where her own nightmares took place_ ). The young girl cleared her thoughts, just before her eyes widened in pure horror, forcing herself to keep her balance as she landed, effortlessly, not meeting Mistress Broomheads gaze. Lining up in silence, the student made sure everything was right. Her hat wasn't jaunty, her cape fastened properly, broom had been tendered to, boot laces fastened and her face clean. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

"Constance Hardbroom!" The shrill voice tore its way inside of her as iron fingers bore into her shoulder, causing the young witch to wince as pressure had been placed rather brutally on already existing bruises.

"Y-yes, Mistress Broomhead?" It was just more than a whimper, as Constance raised her head , not able to meet her ice cold eyes.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, you incompetent girl!" The superior witch barked and forced the young girls head upwards. There was no sound, all the other pupils had lined up formally in rows not making a single noise, trying to have an emotionless face.

"Your boot laces are undone again, Constance" she tutted, shaking her head, disappointed, not taking notice of the confused look on her petrified face.

"Untied miss? I am absolutely positive I had tied them. I even checked after I landed, Miss Broomhead."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Constance shivered at the harsh voice as the woman's long nailed dug into the back of her neck. " see for yourself then" indeed, they were undone... But  _had_ been done up only seconds before. Magic.

"That's not fair, you did that on purpose!" Lavender had been standing one person away from her left, and she leaned over to inconspicuously tap her wrist, as her best friend shook her head, clearly telling her to stop.

"Lavender Feverfew is right, Constance, surely three years here should have taught you how to and how to _not_ speak to your superiors," Constance shivered and hung her head. "Detention girl, after classes, my office!" She barked marching away.

"Are you okay?" Lavender had switched places with the girl beside her and reassuringly took her friends hand, worried.

" fine," she whispered back " it's those sharp nails though " her fingers lightly brushed the stinging nail marks on the back of her neck.

"You mean claws?" The smaller witch giggled.

"You mean talons? " Priscilla Blackwood had somehow appeared unnoticed on the other side of constance, and the three quietly laughed. The students would stand in perfect formation until the first years had arrived, then they would all proceed to dinner.

Mistress Charmwell was what other people could class as the 'school bus' or 'tour guide' for the first years, so they'd all arrive together. Except for those who couldn't handle their brooms. They were left behind. Couldn't fly? couldn't go to this school, headmistresses orders.

 

It was like a flock of ravens, flying towards them, black silhouettes on a faint water-coloured blue sky. As the first years landed, it was almost impossible for the three pupils to  _not_ start picking things out that would anger Mistress Broomhead: the ribbon at the end of a long plait; Badges dotted on the cloak; pink love heart earrings; makeup; dazzling emerald eyes. Wait! What? She wasn't sure why the eyes had captured her attention... That was until she looked again.

Bright, keen, slightly mischievous eyes, that were sure to grow dim and lifeless in this place. The girl had light blonde hair, completely natural, pulled back in a tight ponytail. Despite her keen eyes, her lightly tanned complexion seemed to go paler, at the sight of the silent, well presented crowd, as if she expected an ambush. Another five minutes of standing as a register was taken, and Constances soles were starting to ache.

"Donnelly, Eleanor?" A faint 'yes miss' had been murmered during a round of sneezes, and anyone could bet that it was the freezing cold broom ride. " Drill, Imogen?" The younger witch perked up at her name, smiling again.

"Here miss" her voice held certain power and importance to it, and Feverfew was impressed that anyone could have a sturdy voice in such a place as this.

There was something about this Imogen Drill. Something about her that Constance couldn't put her finger on.

* * *

 

 

"If Miss Broomhead sees you playing with your food you're done for," Lavender sat herself and her plate down beside Constance and Priscilla, opposite. Constance pushed the lump around her plate with her fork.

" I know, but it's...puke, on a plate!" the girls snickered slightly. "Wait a moment..." As Mistress Broomhead was cruelly correcting the first years on their postures, constance concentrated on the sickly plate in front of her. " alakazam, alakazoom."

"Constance! What are you doing?" Priscilla hissed, fiddling nervously with her blonde hair." You'll be in so much trouble if you get caught" still casting wary glances at the busy head, Constance bit into the cake.

"Hep yersef" the young witch mumbled through a mouth full of cake, and before long, the whole cake had been distributed up the table, with no evidence left of it.

"Honestly, if Miss Broomhead ever found out-"

"If I find what out, Lavender Feverfew? Well then... The girl who causes all the trouble," she turned to constance and the young witch tensed as the fearsome headteacher appeared from nowhere, immediately unscrewing a vial from her pocket, and pouring it into Constances water. Dark blue.

They had covered identifying potions two years ago and of course, Constance had passed with flying colours. And there was no mistaking that to be truth potion.

"Drink" it was an order not an option. The brunette tentatively raised the glass to her lips. "Drink it all" the shrill voice set every girl on edge, and there was deadly silence, all eyes staring, as she placed an empty glass back on the desk.

"Good! Now. What was it that I should not find out." There was a moment of thought, deep thought that shouldn't be happening under the potion.

"... The truth" the hall was in uproar of laughter and Heckety clenched her teeth.

"And what is the truth?" The old witch was most certainly impatient.

"Not lying." More laughter, it  _was_ true but not the answer the old witch wanted.

"What happened Constance!?" The loud voice barked sharply and the girl swallowed.

"We ate cake, Miss Broomhead." Constance raised her eyes from the table just in time to see the blonde murdering a silent incantation, and she felt incredibly odd, the effects of the potion were already wearing off, surely it should've taken hours. And the most important question how did the first year know a spell like that? Actually the main reason was, why?

" and who is responsible for providing you with cake?" her shoulders drooped, she had no answer, she didn't have to tell the truth, but she ought to own up anyway.

"I did it." The words were hers, but the voice was not. And soon nobody's eyes were in her anymore but on the first year who had stood up, claiming the fate.

" _You!?"_ She was screeching now, mainly in disbelief. " Sit down girl, you probably don't even know a spell like that" Constance bit back a giggle as she began to realise the seriousness of the situation. Imogen drill still stood defiantly, and stared at her own empty plate, so Mistress Broomhead couldn't prove her guilty of being guilty. Young Constance was deeply confused, as to why Imogen was being so nice, they hadn't even talked before.

"Yes Miss, I'll show you" And concentrating on another dish of cold corn beef casserole, she began chanting. Till there was a cake, the exact same as constances. Imogen hadn't even  _had_ a charms lesson yet, and was practically perfect already. For a moment her bright green eyes met the dark sincere brown ones, and a slight smile passed between them.

" Is this true Constance?" The young witch was still staring at the blonde, unable to bring herself to condemned the girl. She just couldn't. "Well? I'm waiting."

"Yes," she hated herself that moment onwards, after barely whispering the answer, and dropped her gaze. She knew what it was like to be hurt, to be at the receiving end on Broomheads wrath, but Imogen didn't, and now she had condemned her to hell, when she had just saved Constance.

Of all things Constance knew, how to fear someone, how to hide under her sheets at the fright and terror, mostly it was how to ignore the pain. And she knew. She knew everything that was taking place right then, sure she could hear the blondes tears call to her through the stone walls.

She knew the agony, the younger witch was in her place her forehead pressed against the doors to support herself, so she didn't drop to the floor, biting her tongue as she cried out in pain, the nails, the knife, the grip.

Mistress Hecketty Broomhead was a woman from hell, and she was never satisfied till the sobs were ringing in her ears like music.

Constance felt her head jerk, unable to see the pretty young girl there, with the same imagery, when it was all for her, the bloodspill, was for her, the agony, was for her, the scars the bruises, all for her, but the tears that clouded the brunettes dark eyes, were for Imogen. The young witch sat on the edge of her bed, her dizzy head in her trembling hands, able to see everything, and knew it was a price that should never had to be paid.

Nobody, especially not Imogen should have to pay such a heavy price on her behalf. She couldn't pretend she didn't know the excruciating torture. The blonde witch was in pain, in suffering... And it was all Constance Hardbrooms fault.


	2. Goodnight Kisses

Both girls had cried themselves to a troubled sleep that night, both in pain, curled up tight, with identical scars. The open scratches down the young girls back were ablaze and stinging, as innocent blood stained the chalk white covers, as innocent tears stained her chalk white cheeks. Imogen didn't have the strength to take her short golden hair from her bobble, at each attempt of lifting her hers, the bruises prevented her with a sharp shock of unique pain.

She just lay, half clothed till sleep beckoned her to a safer much nicer place, where there was no Hecketty Broomhead, not yet... Constance on the other hand simply could not catch a wink of sleep that had generously been bestowed upon the weak first year, she doubted she could ever sleep again, not with the stone cold eyes that plagued her dreams.

The nail marks had scarred over, but with her hair down, it was almost as if they were nonexistent. And with her long school dress, she could pass as any ordinary student.

Her conscience weighed heavily on her bruised shoulders as it continued to sink in that she had condemned the talented witch to damnation. It was her burden, hers, and she had never wanted the same outcome for anybody, nobody deserved the punishment.

She didn't know just how long she had been up, laying in the deadly silence, thinking, sobbing, staring at nothing in particular. Silent tears streamed from her dark eyes, leaking into her already damp pillowcase.

She had never felt so guilty, never before in her whole life. Constance swung her legs over the side of her bed, slipping back into her socks, not too fond in the idea of walking barefoot along the cold halls, and her shoes would make too much noise.

But she couldn't force the blonde out of her head no matter how hard she tried. She was permanent. And so was Hecketty Broomhead.

The young girl slipped away into the derelict night, creeping through the cold, abandoned hallways. The sleeping blonde didn't stir when the witch sneaked into her chambers to check on her. The tied back hair held most the strands away, exposing her perfect, tanned face. She was so serene and peaceful, for all Constance knew, she could have been dreaming blissfully, and she suddenly felt like an intruder, and was about to go back to the safety of her own quarters, that was until she saw the blood that stained her bedsheets.

The first time that she had been a victim of Hecketty Broomheads wickedness, the blood terrified her, making her feel decrepit and damaged like a fragile spider web, destroyed. She had been very scared, before she had learnt them, but now being in her fifth year, she had spent many sessions in the library learning for such occasions. Imogen was in such a deep sleep, that Constance thought very little of entering her room.

Her pinafore tights and shirt were strawn to the end of the room and she was surprised she had managed that, as she herself had to sleep fully clothed. A pang of guilt blanketed her stomachs and the witch sat silently on the side of her bed. Imogen still didn't stir, not even when Constance brushed the fringe back, from her forehead behind her ear. She started to chant in a low whisper, although she was not the best at chanting, that particular spell had been used too many times into perfection.

The wound closed, but the scar was clearly visible. It wouldn't go. They would serve as a reminder to a very long time. The younger witch shuffled slightly, slightly more relaxed without an open cut. (She should've left then, right then and everything would've been different. Constance would often reflect to herself when she was alone in the staffroom at Cackles. If she hadn't stayed... They might've been together still.)

But Constance didn't leave the room of the first year, and watched her sleep peacefully, knowing it must have been a very odd thing to do. After a long moment of hesitation, the witch slowly slipped her place hand into Imogens soft, delicate hand, trying not to wake her, but she wanted to do it, and even then she wondered why she had done it, but it wasn't enough to cause her to take her hand away.

She owed the blonde her gratitude and Constance smiled slightly, sweeping her thumb tentatively across the back of her warm hand. The smallest action was enough to wake Imogen, but the girl still laid there without opening her eyes, dumbfounded, yet marvelling at how her hand fit sweetly into the Constances, a girl she had never even spoken to... She tightened her fingers slightly much to both the witches surprise, forcing herself awake.

A small gasp was emitted from the pale lips, and it hung deadly in the air as the blonde witch roused herself, aching as she sat up, rubbing her eyes with her free hand, still looking vaguely surprised. "C-constance..."

Her emerald, startled eyes found the murky brown ones that had been laced in apprehension. "I... I wondered if you were okay... After Broomhead" the young brunette whispered, slowly swinging her legs as she sat on the edge of the bed and Imogen looked up at her.

"Why did you do it? What did she do?" The younger witch didn't seem keen on answering, as she relit the candle, to see better.

"I can't explain it properly... I could sense, sort of, an aura about you, something sensual about you. I can't describe it, but you are... Special of some ways." The girl simply shrugged it off like it had been no big deal, but it was a large deal for the girl who often coped with the headmistress brutality.

"What did she do to you Imogen?" Still she hadn't let go off the girls hand, not even noticing. The dark circles around her eyes almost vanished in the dim candlelight.

"It was those terrible nails... And that corrosive potion, her fingers hurt though, and her cane." Constance winced slightly. Twice she had been forced to kneel in the acidic potion that burnt her knees, and scarred her skin. "I feel like a walking piñata... " Imogen drill whispered, before giggling at the others confused reaction.

"It's a normal child's game, where you hit a paper model with a rod till it breaks..." Constance didn't find the game very funny it could easily sound insulting. "My mother's a witch, but my father isn't, it's a rather odd thing really." Now the dark haired student sat crossed legged at the bottom of Imogene bed and listened curiously.

"Broomhead is scary though, and you stood up to her because of an aura you claim I have?" She questioned.

"Oh, I said it sounds crazy... " The candle wax had melted a good inch and a half as the two girls talked, without any worry for one that Hecketty Broomhead could walk in at any moment.

It was only until Imogen and Constance were laughing at Constance's story of the time she had accidentally turned her sister into a goldfish, that the brunette had softly rest her hand over her new friends mouth to silence her giggles just in case.

Both bruised girls now laid on their backs, with their heads half hanging over the longer side of the bed, as they whispered and giggled as they began to actually get to know each other. "Where did you learn to do that spell?" The young witch asked Imogen upon remembering the event from the previous day.

"I practised every single spell from gilded herbals book of useful spells while I was at home... I always wanted to do magic as long as I can remember, my mother taught me early. My father always loved to watch..." A moment of silence passed the two friends.

"What about your family?" Constance had been trying to avoid the certain topic.

"My mother works at broomers repair shop, and my sister, Penelope, she goes to pentangles... My father died unexplained causes." Even to that day Constance had no idea how her fathers death came about.

"Oh," it sounded more like a whimper, as Imogen truly felt sorry for constance. It felt truly amazing to constance, to have somebody to rely on, Lavender and Priscilla didn't know as much.

That night, Constance let imogen plait her hair in one long braid down her back. She felt so relaxed feeling the blondes fingers toy with her hair. And then she put it up, in a tight smart bun at the top of her head, a style that Constance loved and suited, deciding she would start seeing her hair like that more often. And every night roughly half an hour after lights out, Constance would sneak to Imogens room or vice versa.

"She's in my dreams sometimes" neither of them stiffened at this sort of talk, anymore, not around each other, and once or twice mistress Broomhead would enter the girl' conversations. "It's really scary how she manipulates me with so much fear, that I even dream about her" Imogen admitted two weeks later fiddling with Constance's fingers, laying side by side on Constance's bed.

Neither knew why they would do that, but it was always comforting, and sometimes even after they had returned to their own rooms, they would hold their own hands, so they could still be comforted and pretend the other was still there. Constance was smiling softly and closed her eyes.

"She gives me nightmares every night... I can't escape her during the day, and I can't escape her in the night. She is constantly haunting me. And each bruise that aches throughout the day reminds me just how hopeless life is sometimes, and each scar reminds me of my superiors and how stuck I am in this cruel prison, where I'm all alone"

As she spoke a rogue tear spilled from the corner of her right eye, slipping down the side of her face, as she stared up at the ceiling. It was true, she was imprisoned in a world that was so harsh she once thought about ending it all together, but of course she couldn't.

"You've got me Constance..." the tanned girl whispered and wiped the salty tear away. Constance only nodded. What happened then made no sense whatsoever, and it was so quick the young brunette wasn't sure if she had really felt Imogene's soft lips upon hers. Her eyes flew open in shock and the blonde witches cheeks were tinted an endearing shade of pink that answered Constance's unasked question.

In truth she didn't know how to act. She had never been kissed before, unless it was by her family. Dark brown met dazzling green a moment before the blonde began to apologise. "I'm sorry Constance, I don't know what came over me." The girl was flustered, and embarrassed, and closed her eyes to groan at herself.

But Constance loved being loved, nobody loved her in this place, well she had her friends of course, but still... She had come across a love potion recipe and laughed to herself who she could bewitch, but of course she never would.

She had even read those childhood classics that gave her an essential escape route from reality. She loved the happy endings, and could almost pretend such things did exist, but deep inside she knew they were made for fairy tales. Constance eyed the girl curiously a smile slipped upon her pale lips as the young girl pushed her dark hair behind her shoulders, as she half sat up, turning to the blonde and placing a soft full kiss on her warm lips.

She could feel Imogen gasp beneath her lips as the young girl was very shocked. But the girl was the brightest girl at charms, surely she was used to a little magic. It wasn't long at all before the tanned girl was indeed reciprocating the kiss back. Imogen had been kissed before, a stupid, arrogant boy in her old first school had played out a dare, but that had been a joke and complete unwanted experience.

This however was perfect... It wasn't a joke, she could detect the hint of want in her best friends kiss, a hint of desperation for someone, a hint of loneliness, and she returned it all with the feeling that the was indeed something about the dark haired girl, something that greatly allured her. She couldn't help feeling the adrenaline push around her body. Constances heart skipped a beat and all the nervousness she had felt before suddenly disappeared.

They slowly stopped and parted their lips briefly. Sparkling dark chocolate met sweet emerald green eyes and they smile, and at that moment Imogen could see forever was in her beautiful eyes. The blonde sat up on her knees to match the others height better, as she gently caressed her fingertips lightly across her pale chalk white cheek, causing them both to slightly shiver, a smile painting their freshly kissed lips.

Both looked undoubtedly shocked, and Constance, with her hair up in a plaited bun ( thanks to Imogen) looked much older with her pale skin and contrasting dark eyes. Still the surprise was reflected in their eyes, not knowing why or what happened exactly. But the talented charms student was softly stroking her jaw, almost mesmerized by the soft porcelain.

They had reached for each other lips at the same time, colliding with a heated passion, much more force than either had expected, but that didn't pull them away. Imogens hand trailed to the back of her neck, her fingers entwining up into the few loose strands of hair that hadn't been gripped back, that made the older witch shudder in delight.

Although her lithe fingers had unintentionally ran over the fingernail shaped cuts in her neck, Constance had neither flinched nor noticed as she snaked her arm around her waist pulling the blonde closer to her as she also tugged her hair from its restraint, letting the short golden locks fall, and tickle her shoulders. Imogen cupped her cheeks, pressing her lips devotedly upon hers, until they were both short of breath. Even then, they shared short, fevers kisses the hot and fragrant breaths intermixing, chills shooting up her spine.

Wasn't this how it was done in the books? A poor girl suffering from her evils stepmother, saved by a knight in shining armour. Well her story had been tweaked a bit, but to Constance, the younger student was just as good, maybe even better, who needed shining armour anyway? The dark haired beauty slowly pushed the girl back into her bed, searing their lips firmly as Imogen brought her down with her, keeping their lips locked that no key could fit to undo them.

"You're so beautiful Constance " the girl whispered almost giggling watching her friend maybe lover turn pink, a smile that she adored slipping onto her lips before planting a soft kiss on her nose.

"Imogen, you are in no place to make such statements" the girl laughed quietly, trapping the beauteous blonde beneath her, pinning her to the sheets as she kissed her way lovingly up her neck. The brunette half wondered where this was coming from, she had never felt so much passion course through her veins.

The younger girl lowly moaned, finding much affection enchanting and powerful, tilting her head to give her more, much desired access. "Objectus Simplistus, Lentus Shiftus" it was just a simple moving spell, but it had moved all Constances grips and hair items till her hair was loose in a cascading river flowing down her back, and soon as it was, Imogens fingers were tangled softly in the dark entrancing hair.

A gentle sigh left her content lips at the miraculous feeling, bringing her lips heatedly down upon the girl, trapped rather willingly beneath body. Their lips collided fiercely as Constance poured as much passion to the girl, as she could. Imogen caught her lower lip between her teeth softly, eliciting a delicate moan from the brunette, as her tongue slid across the pale barriers.

* * *

* * *

 

Constance sat in the staff room, too late at night as hot, silent tears streamed burning paths down her cheeks. She didn't know if she ought to be happy or sad that her ex-lover was joining Cackles academy as she remembered that night many years ago. She had been given a choice, let her go, or lose her forever.


	3. The Power of Love

She had just blown out her melting candle, knowing in thirty minutes she'd be creeping down the hall and up the stairs... Constance could still feel the tingling in her lips the heat of her body next to hers, from the night before and a bright smile painted her pale lips. There was an all too familiar crack in the air and her breath got stuck in her harshly in her throat.

"Mistress Broomhead!" Fear. That was the only thing the bright witch could feel as she sat up straight in her bed.

"Constance... A word, if you don't mind" panic spread quickly through the young girls body. Hecketty Broomhead was not the sort of witch you would find being so polite to Constance Hardbroom, so when the formal addressing came about, it sounded more like a queen asking for a private conversation with her advisor, compared to an evil tutor preparing to scold her student.

She followed the terrifying woman down the cold halls, holding her arms to keep herself warm. Indeed, the brunette was oddly baffled by this, as she sat in the chair in front of Mistress Broomheads desk, and Mistress Broomhead herself, sitting down. This was highly out of the ordinary, she never ever waited to give out punishments. "Do you know why you are here Constance?"

Honestly... No. But the fear that it had something to do with Imogen set the girl on edge, in pure grief. " I'm a disappointment, Miss Broomhead?" She offered weakly, staring at her knees. She hadn't even had a proper conversation with her tutor before and it scared her more than anything.

"Partially, sit up straight!" The woman barked and she obeyed immediately, straightening her spine. "It has been brought to my attention of a certain bonding between you and this...Imogen Drill" Oh no! She couldn't possibly know! Her cheeks drained of colour, gasping silently, her dark eyes round and fearful.

"Oh yes Constance, I know all about that," a sly smirk played on the woman's lip as she sat forward, drawling her words scornfully. She hadn't punished the student physically, but this... This would be bad enough.

"Therefore, I am going to give you something precious which I haven't given to anyone else... a chance to redeem yourself. You are getting a choice Constance, which is very very generous of me, considering such acts would be enough to get you both expelled."

Constance did wish they were both expelled, no more Broomhead, able to be happy together, but of course Heckety wouldn't give them that option if her life depended on it.

"So, either this silly act has to stop, no more of this nonsense from the two of you. No form of friendship between you. Or I will be forced to take action. Do you know what I'll do?" The horrid gleam in her eyes made the young witch know for sure it wasn't pleasant.

"Hurt us miss?" The elder woman laughed cruelly.

"I will cast my own spell on the precious first year of yours. She will forget all about magic and witches, she will live life as a pathetic non-witch, she will forget everything to do with this place, every hall, every person, and most of all... She will forget you. See, the girl is very gifted in charms. Those who do wrong get their gifts, taken away... Everything stripped away, every pleasant memory,"

Constance didn't even acknowledge her tears. Lose Imogen? Even worse. Imogen would never know her... Would never remember their friendship their kisses their love... No! It couldn't happen, it wouldn't!

"You may go." The brunette sauntered to her room. She had to avoid her girlfriend ( she didn't think friend fit the relationship anymore) it was the only way to keep her safe. And before they left for the holidays, she could tell her everything, and keep up the charade in school, then they could be together when it was all over. It was a time consuming plan, but it was the only way they could get their happily ever after...

She was supposed to visit Imogens room that night, as they often took it in turns with the risky dilemma. But when the gorgeous brunette didn't show up, the first year felt torn, and confused. Maybe Constance had mixed up the days, as with that thought, she slipped out of bed, to visit her instead.

Constance Hardbroom was hugging her knees too tightly under the thin, white bed sheets, stifling her sobs as she shook violently from the pain in her heart. She knew it would hurt her Imogen, and that's what hurt her most.

She had wedged her old chair under the door handle, so any desperate attempts to enter were thwarted. Sure enough, the blonde girl had tried to access Constances dormitory. For a moment Imogen could not understand, standing confused before the realisation hit her like a tonne of bricks, her forehead pushed against the door as salty tears slipped from her burning, wet eyes.

"Constance!" The desperate blonde collapsed against the door, her body shaking softly as she sobbed harshly, pressing her hand to her mouth to muffle the heart-breaking cries.

"Constance open the door!" Imogen felt the hot tears burn foreboding paths down her cold cheeks " Please…" She had never thought of having to live without her, the one face she would always adore to see in the school, the one person she loved… and that one person didn't want to see her.

Constance knew her lovers thoughts, how could she not? How could she? How could she forsake her like this? The cries were haunting her mind, but the tears joined her own as she tried determinedly to not make a sound. Then the pain struck. The pain of a broken heart… The pain of the realisation she would have to hurt her… to save her.

Mistaken. All this time Imogen must've been under a false impression, surely someone who loved her…couldn't make her suffer all alone in the world that crushed her to ashes. Imogen Drill must've overestimated herself. Of course she wasn't entitled to her own happiness. She was nobody special, not even to Constance Hardbroom. The girl knocked on the door tentatively and when that wouldn't work, something inside the girl broke as she collapsed against the wall, sinking to the floor as tears came streaming from her eyes. Her best friend, her lover, didn't want to see her... It was probably her fault, even though she hadn't a clue what she had done wrong. It was always her fault. It was her fault her brother was dead... so she told herself to believe, it was her fault she was a nobody. It was her fault that the girl she loved didn't love her back.

She sat weakly at the base of her door, a shuddering, crying wreck for a few minutes, unable to will herself to move. The brunettes heart broke hearing the sobs, how she longed to throw her arms around her, pull her into a kiss and tell her everything was going to be okay... But she couldn't, she mustn't! She couldn't let Broomhead confiscate her magic! Who heard of a witch without magic? No magic... No witch… and with no Imogen… Constance would have nobody… she would be all alone in this dark world, just one broken soul, among millions… and she would never be able to hold the girl in her arms, she would never be able to say "I love you" as she became mesmerized in the emerald sparking eyes…

"I love you" the brunette barely whispered the words into her knees, inaudible, even to herself.

"I love you" the blonde witch pleaded so quietly that Constance wouldn't hear even is she sat next to her. How she wished the elegant witch was sitting next to her, embrace her warmly,as Imogen would rest her head on the older students shoulder, wrapped up in her loving arms. Why? After everything... Why now was Constance isolated in her room? Imogen drill pushed aside the cascading tears, heartbroken, sniffling as more tears streamed heavily down her face, as she hugged her knees, the only source of comfort. "C-Constance..." The name rang from her lips so it was almost musical.

The brunette jumped from her bed, practically running to the door and wrenched the chair away, resting her palm on the handle before she stopped herself, suddenly. If she went out there now... She'd lose her... She'd lose everything... She'd lose the only person she ever loved. "I'm so sorry..." She whispered leaning broken against her door.

Like Imogens first night... The girls cried themselves to sleep bitterly, their mind glued to the other... Not once did Constance Hardbroom look up from her breakfast for two reasons. She had cried her way through the darkest night of her life, and undoubtedly her eyes were puffy and red,and second she could sense the first year staring, rather sadly, hoping to catch her attention... But she never did.

She wouldn't speak to Lavender or Priscilla either, enclosed in her bubble of isolation as a single silent tear strolled, betraying her wills, down her hard cheek. Out of all her punishments received over the dreadful period of five years... This was by far the worst.

She had left her hair down, not even pinning it up as Imogen had introduced the hairstyle to her. The plaited bun, she loved her hair back like that... But she couldn't. Hecketty could realise... She knew everything.

And in a desperation to conceal her emotions, the brunette, placed down her cutlery, in a controlled manner she couldn't uphold as she ran from the hall, into the first empty classroom she came across, where she slunk into corner letting harsh cries tear from her.

Why did Hecketty Broomhead have to control her life? Why wasn't she entitled to happiness? Burying her head in her arms Constance sobbed. "Constance!" At first she thought Mistress Broomhead had come to scold her but as she glanced up, she was nose to nose with the person she had been most anxious and dreading to meet.

"Go away," she disregarded the blonde, quietly, skinning further into the corner. " I said go away!" The force behind the words hit Imogen with such hurt and despair, that she was forced to kneel in front of her.

"I-I can't!" The younger witch protested, reaching out tentatively to caress her cheek, causing the brunette to flinch away sharply.

"You don't understand!" It was supposed to come across harshly but the words passed her lips more sadly than anything else. Imogen bit her lip.

"Then help me to..." Constance only shook her head, contemplating whether she ought to get up and leave. But Hecketty was in the staff room, only making an appearance before class in twenty minutes. Sighing and crying, the pale pupil sat up and the blonde immediately curled into her side, her warmth feeling so right, their fingers locked.

The sun-kissed arms were around her in an instant, wiping the tears from her cheeks, sweet kisses marking the end of their tracks. "Please, don't put me through this... I can't bare it."

"But I can not bare to lose you Imogen..." Wondering if she should relay the conversation between herself and her tutor, constance fell into the young witches embrace.

"You'll always have me..." She pressed her soft lips against the brunette's pale ones, and with a heartbreaking decision, constance kissed her back.

"Imogen, there's... There's something I need to tell you..." The blonde girl looked up to her with round worried eyes. Those eyes, green as grass, captivating as the stars, magical... She couldn't bring herself to say it. She couldn't! Just couldn't. " I love you," the girl whispered, attaching her lips desirably upon Imogens.

How much she had missed this, just being together... Being there, loving her, nestling into her side... Being loved. Constance would do anything to maintain that feeling. With a sudden boldness, she pulled the blonde close to her, pushing her lips firmly against hers, which was reciprocated immediately.

Lithe fingers tangled into her dark hair as a warm sigh passed her lips, as she longed to be closer. Imogen was positioned in Constances lap, and kissing her fiercely. Their night apart was enough to drive each girl mental, and to make up for all the heartbreak and tears, the brunette lovingly kissed her way up the younger witches jaw, finally planting a firm kiss on her lips, not able to pull away.

The passion radiated around them magnificently, Constance catching the beautiful face in her hands, Imogen pushing herself closer, running her fingers heatedly through her hair. Their lips collided fiercely, porcelain skin against a golden tan was the perfect contrast.

They were perfect. Feeling the blondes warm breath ghost her lips, Constance shivered. Their tongues met in a wonderful passion. Imogens heart thud loudly, and within such close proximity, she was sure Constance would be able to feel the irregular fast beating of her heart. "I love you Imogen," the words came heatedly past her lips, as she caressed the younger witches cheek softly. Leaning closer into the touch the blonde smiled brightly.

"I love you too, Constance Hardbroom,"

"How touching," Constance froze. Imogen gasped. Neither could react. The shrill empty voice had caught them off guard, and suddenly felt like they had been caught red handed. Who knew how long Hecketty Broomhead had been stood there? All this time? Just now? Ten minutes? The girls clung to each other in absolute fear, with their arms tightly secured around the other.

They were petrified, and the gleam in the headmistress' eyes showed exactly how much she loved the idea of punishment. How much she was glad that she could tear the two girls apart quite viciously.

"Constance Hardbroom... And Imogen Drill... The most unlikely of suitors. Tell me Constance, do you or do you not remember our conversation only last night?" The blonde student flashed a quick confused glance at the pale witch still entwined in her arms.

"Oh! You didn't tell her? Well... Let me enlighten you!" The strength voice tore through them like ice. Constances eyes flooded with fear and sheer horror.

"No! Miss! Please! You can't do that!" She practically begged, clutching tightly to the witch she loved.

"Can't I?" A determined sickly grin swept the old witches features as she approached the girls cowering in the corner. She caught hold of Imogens arm, her sharp nails digging into the blouse. Emitting a hollow cry, the blonde witch writhed in pain. Constance held on to her tightly even as the demon woman seized her neck. If it came down to prizing the girl apart, Mistress Broomhead wouldn't think twice about it.

The girls were in sheer protest, but with a final firm yank. The two witches were separated, and without the slightest hesitation, Hecketty Broomhead sealed the door, and an invisible barrier cut the classroom in half. A dazed, tearful constance on one side, a deranged headmistress and terrified Imogen on the other.

The elder student hammered on the see through wall, testing its effectiveness, trying quite impossibly to break through. The sight of her Imogen in her clutches was bad enough. But she knew... She knew what would happen.

"Constance!" Imogens cries amused the tutor letting the witch go for a moment, and as expected, she ran straight to the barrier that separated them, just for the amusement it created for the horrid old woman.

"Imogen! I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!" She gasped through sobs. Had there been no wall between them, and each girl stood in the same position, their hands would've met, exactly... In mistress Broomhead eyes there was no time for goodbyes as she began to chant. It was of no recognisable language to Constance, and she screamed, desperate for it to stop.

The young witch was overcome with savage pain, gritting her teeth tightly. "I love you, Constance Hardbroom," but as soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes became dazed and confused as if she had woken from a dream. Then it was finished. Quick as that. And Imogen fell to the ground as a rogue tear slipped from her precious green eyes. The brunette stared at her lover. She was so serene she could easily been mistaken to be asleep.

"She will be transported someplace or another Constance, don't you worry, to live a simple life as a normal girl." Hecketty smirked removing her barrier. For minutes later Constance stood alone, watching over the body of the girl she loved. She would soon be gone, gone from her life.

The brunette placed a long lasting kiss on her warm fragile lips. "I love you too, Imogen Drill," she had cried all the tears there were to cry and she stood up straight turning around. She felt different.

She felt her mind sharpen and her care and judgement clouden. Her body stiffened taking in a sharp breath. She could never love anybody again, she couldn't let Mistress Broomhead use them against her.

Constance narrowed her dark eyes and promised to herself, that she would never show a weakness not to anyone, never again, not a feeling, not an emotion. And as she grew, Constance kept that promise, as her soul grew cold and her heart turned to stone.

* * *

* * *

 

In her chambers, Constance couldn't hide the brightest smile she had shown in years.

Inspecting herself in the mirror, the dark haired woman was please now, that she had kept her traditional plaited bun, in memory of her only love. No denying she was excited... And truly nervous. Of course Imogen wouldn't remember her, but if she fell in love with her once, surely, it could happen again...

Sparkling dark chocolate eyes met captivating emerald. A gasp. Constance registered the expression in this captivating eyes. The short blonde hair suited the woman perfectly and her golden glowing skin hadn't changed, she was still Imogen Drill, just as perfect... But by the way she stopped and stared at her, made Constance wonder if she had in fact remembered her.

"M-Miss Drill," The witch bit back a smile as the blonde woman grinned softly up at her, shaking her hand softly, an inquiring look in her features.

"Constance?" Her spirit soared up, did she remember her? She had to!

"That... That's right" her heart beat rapidly and unsteady.

"It sounds... Bizarre, but... I'm sure I know you, Well, you've been in my dreams, for as long as I can remember..." The once witch smiled brightly. Constance couldn't hide the smile.

"Yes, Imogen, I know you... Very well," the women couldn't help but stare at one another and emerald eyes were lost in dazzling mysterious dark ones. They were together, after all these years.

Even Hecketty Broomhead couldn't defeat the power of love.


End file.
